


Down by the Riverside

by DarkCommet



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Canon-Typical Violence, Family Dynamics, Multi, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Pre-Canon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-07-28 07:59:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16237448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkCommet/pseuds/DarkCommet
Summary: Ned Stark marries a different Tully sister and the world is forever changed.





	1. Chapter 1

When Meredith is seven her uncle Brynden takes her away from her lessons with the Septa, an action that surprises the young girl as she and her uncle have never spent much time alone together over the course of Meredith's young life. Even so she sets aside her work and offers the older woman a curtsy before following her uncle out of the room and into the corridor. It's only then that she notices the pile of clothing in her arms. 

Boy's clothing, Meredith learns when her uncle presses them into her own waiting grasp. 

"Change little trout," Her uncle commands with a gentle smile, "we've much to do today." 

Meredith merely nods before darting into her private chambers to change and Brynden waits in the corridor across from the heavy oak door. She changes quickly, stripping out of her own dress and sliding into the clothes given to her. A blue tunic made of light material and a pair of scratchy trousers. There aren't any shoes so Meredith slips her feet back into the pretty silk things she's so used to wearing before slipping back into the corridor. 

Her uncle merely nods when he sees her and extends a roughened hand which Meredith takes without so much as a thought, soft fingers curling tight and possessive around her uncle's, as it is not so unfamiliar a gesture that she would shy from it. Then her uncle is guiding her through the castle, past servants and knights and Maester Vyman who smiles kindly when he sees her. 

Eventually, her uncle pushes open a door and leads her out into the midday heat of the Riverlands. 

"Where are we going, Uncle Brynden?" Meredith finds herself asking as her uncle leads her further and further away from the castle. 

Not far enough away to offer her any true discomfort, and a guard follows them as they leave the gates besides, but far enough to make the little girl's brow furrow in her confusion. 

Brynden merely smiles at her, eyes alight with something sweet. 

"Have you ever seen the Red Fork, Meredith?" uncle Brynden asks, helping to steady her as Meredith climbs over a particularly shaped rock. 

"Once, with Papa." 

Her papa had taken all of his children to the river banks, even little Edmure who had only just turned three years the week before, and he'd taught all of his daughters to skip flat stones across the oddly still waters of the river while Petyr Baelish had tried to entertain them with daring feats of bravery as he danced along slick stones. When he'd fallen off one such stone and into the mud he'd done nothing but laugh at his own clumsiness and rise to wipe the muck from his face. It had been a good day. 

"Your father and I were taught to swim in those waters, did you know?" 

"No uncle Brynden." 

"Ah, well, I suppose my brother has other more interesting stories to tell." 

Meredith doesn't know what to think of the strange distance in her uncles eyes. She knows she is not fond of it. 

"Will you be teaching me to swim then uncle? Like you and papa were taught?" She asks after a long moment, glad to see that strange gleam flee from her uncles bright eyes. 

"Yes, little trout, I will teach you to swim, just as I have begun to teach your sisters." 

"What of Edmure?" 

"He is still too young as of yet but when he is older I will teach him too." Uncle Brynden tells her. 

"Oh," Meredith brushes hair out of her face and turns to smile up at her much taller uncle, "will you teach us other things as well then?" 

Uncle Brynden laughs, hard and loud, "And what would you like to learn, little trout?" 

"To ride! And to sew like Cat sews! Oh, and perhaps how to run faster so that when Petyr demands we race I can always beat him." Meredith declares with a firm nod of her head. 

In the distance she can hear the babble of water moving over stones and the splash of birds dipping their talons into the river to catch their lunches. They are nearing the Red Fork and her uncle is smiling so fondly at her that it makes Meredith so very, very happy to have pleased him so. She decides, in the abstract way that all children decide something, that she will be her uncle's favorite niece and that he will always smile this fondly at her no matter the reason. 

"I cannot sew, Little trout, but I can teach you to ride if you so wish. But first I will teach you to swim." Her uncle replies, already reaching to remove his sword belt so that he can lay it across a flat rock. 

Meredith is quick to kick off her shoes, one landing a bit too close to the water but far enough to be safe from the risk of the current dragging it off. Not that Meredith thinks it will, the water of the Red Fork is still and calm, the current only visible when her uncle steps into the Tully-red waters and his tunic flares out behind him as the current tugs gently at the cloth. 

There is a rock buried in the mud of the riverbank, Meredith climbs atop it and musters up the courage to leap into her uncle's waiting arms. 

He merely smiles at her hesitance. 

"The water is calm and I am here," he promises when Meredith turns to glance at the man waiting a ways back. "I will not let you drown." 

"Fish cannot drown." Meredith recites, having heard her Septa say such once before. 

"But little girls do. Which is why you must learn, Meredith." 

The hair growing from his head is streaked with grey but the red that remains there is the same shade that colors the water around him. Meredith swallows and moves forward to dip the toes of her right foot into the water. It is then, when her eyes are downward and her attention is fixated on something else, that her uncle springs forward to pull her into the river. 

A startled cry spills from her lips as she scrambles to grab hold of her uncle's wrists, scared he'll release her to the mercy of the river and whatever lies hidden in the murky waters, but his grip remains firm under her arms and slowly, so very slowly, Meredith relaxes in his grasp. Her uncle smiles at her, lowering her little frame into the water until the current pulls at her hips and the dip of her back. 

Then he guides her to lie flat in the water which soaks her body and turns her hair a similar shade to the wine a servant had spilled at dinner the night before. Meredith can just barely see it from the corner of her eye. 

"You will float before you swim, it is the easiest thing to learn." Her uncle says, his grip loosening slightly beneath her arms. 

Panic bubbles in her chest, causing her to thrash and send water up into her eyes. 

"Calm Meredith, calm." 

His voice is soft, it is the tone he uses when speaking to his horse, and Meredith forces her body to stop moving. 

"Good... Now, imagine air in your stomach trying to escape through your belly button." 

A childish giggle escapes her but Meredith does as she's told, lying in the water watching as the clouds above her head form pretty little images. She doesn't realize her uncle has let go of her until the current begins moving her along, then she is being yanked to the surface by her chortling uncle who praises her and tells her how she's taken to the water like a true fish. 

They spend several more hours in the river. Meredith's swimming is far from graceful and consists of more splashing then moving but her uncle promises that she is improving and that one day, if she continues to practice, she will be a better swimmer then even he. Meredith laughs at that, tells him that no one can be better then him- except for her papa- but begs him to teach her more. 

He promises more lessons, promises to speak to her father about getting her a horse, and Meredith smiles the entire way back to the castle even though her body shivers near the point of violence as the wind chills the water still dripping from her. 

 

* * *

 

"I've a gift for you, little trout." Her uncle says in way of greeting nearly a week later when she meets him for her swimming lesson. 

"Oh! May I see it Uncle Brynden? May I?" She pleads, clasping her hands before her as if to beg. 

Her uncle laughs, "Come along then, let's not leave it to wait." 

Uncle Brynden turns on his heel but instead of making his way toward the gate he moves for the stables instead. Something hot takes root in Meredith's little chest. Something that tastes like the sweets her mother bought her once from a merchant who'd traveled from Dorne. It will take her some years before she can associate such a sensation with excitement. 

Not, of course, that it matters for when they enter the stables and uncle Brynden leads her to a stall near the back of the stables all thought of candies and Dorne slip from her mind to make room for the dappled horse that stands eating in the corner. Her uncle flips the latch keeping the stall closed and makes his way to the horse, carefully taking hold of its halter and leading it to where Meredith now stands at the door. 

"I spoke to your father and he agreed that it would not hurt to allow you a horse." Brynden explains but Meredith is too busy smoothing her hand along the side of his neck to care much for his words. 

"She is mine?" 

"He, Meredith, it is a he. I have found that gelded horses are easier for me to break." 

"You plan to break him yourself?" 

"I already have... To be honest I had intended to keep him for myself." 

The admission does not bother her, perhaps it should. Either way, the gelded horse is hers now and she will love him unconditionally. 

"May I ride him?" 

"Now?" Her uncle laughs and when Meredith nods he ruffles her hair. "Tomorrow perhaps, today we have other plans." 

And so Meredith leaves the dappled horse to his meal of hay and oats with a hesitance that makes her uncle chortle happily as he leads her away from the stables. 

 

* * *

 

By the time she is four and ten Meredith is more familiar with her uncle Brynden's smiling face then that of her own father's. Over the years he has taught her to ride as well as any man in Riverrun and swim better then any other Southerner, and once she'd mastered such activities and began traveling beyond the walls of Riverrun her uncle Brynden had begun to teach her archery as well. An activity that had not necessarily pleased any of her family members. 

Her father had spoken to Brynden privately, her sister Cat had told her that it was not proper for ladies to shoot, her brother Edmure had remained oddly stone faced, and her sister Lysa had glowered at her and refused to utter a word in Meredith's presence for two weeks before their father reprimanded her for her behavior. Thankfully, Petyr had been their to soothe the tension between the three sisters, joking and tugging gently at curls until all three had forgotten whatever bitterness that had taken hold of them. 

Until, of course, Petyr kisses her sister. 

Petyr Baelish has always been her friend, brought to foster in Riverrun when Meredith was six and he four. He'd always been closest to Catelyn, a fact which had always annoyed Lysa who was closer to Petyr's age then any of her other siblings. Meredith had never thought ill of Petyr before, not even as his gaze began to linger on the forming curves of her sister's body, not when he began pledging himself to Catelyn, not even when Lysa had told her that Petyr had confessed his love to her. 

It had all be nothing but words to her, meaning little more than nothing to her when she had other things to occupy her time. 

The it happens. 

Rain floods the rivers and the ground becomes too soft to ride on forcing Meredith to remain well within the confines of Riverrun. It's not so bad, she has Catelyn and Edmure after all and both of her beloved siblings keep her well entertained when her river and her horse and her bow cannot. This is the first time she spends so long inside and it makes her fitful. So she does her lessons without complaint, even if her needlework will never be as fair as Catelyn's, and when those end she runs off to find Catelyn or Edmure. 

She finds her sister first, rushing down the long corridor toward her with a dazzling smile and bright eyes. 

"I am betrothed!" Catelyn exclaimed, her giddiness dripping from her lips like the sweetest honey. 

"Truly? To whom?" 

"Brandon Stark! Father only just told me! Apparently he and Lord Stark have been in agreement to unify our houses for years! Isn't it exciting?" 

A certain tightness takes hold of her. 

As the child of a great Lord Meredith has always known that it is her duty to marry well. Marry a noble lord with a pretty smile and move to his home and care for his family. It is not a thought that repulses her. In fact, Meredith looks forward to having a family of her own one day, but it is the idea of watching sweet Cat go that makes her happiness for her sister a bittersweet thing on her tongue. 

"I am so happy for you, Cat." Meredith breathes even if her tongue feels like lead. 

"You will come to visit me? You and Lysa both! Oh, it will be so lovely! Perhaps I will name one of my daughters for mother? Do you think it possible?" Catelyn asks, too excited to linger on one thought for too long. 

Before Meredith can say anything in response her sister is skipping off down the corridor to find others of their family and relay the news to them. Meredith does not wish to see Lysa's face when the news is broken to her as it is likely not to be a pretty one full of delight. Not when there is so much jealousy in Lysa directed at Cat. Instead, Meredith turns to make her way to her own chambers. 

She reaches her chambers without running into anyone else and slips into the silent room with a hearty sigh. Everything is just as she left it that morning; her bow left on the small table where she takes her meals and writes her letters, a book left forgotten on the bed, a pearl necklace lying atop her other jewels in the little chest that keeps them protected. 

Everything is as she left it but there is a sense of offness that Meredith can't quite place. So she moves to the bed and gathers her book, a little legend about the Red Priests in Asshai, her father hadn't wanted her reading it. Said that the content within was much too dark for a girl of Meredith's age and temperament. She'd stolen the book anyway, tucked it between her tunic and her belly and raced for her room before Vyman realized Meredith had managed to steal the weathered book from the table full of books he'd taken from the library. 

It's an interesting read, though, Meredith doubts many of the stories are true.

Some time later, and surely a good few hours have passed as the sunlight drifting in through the window has gone from soft gold to burning copper, a knock pulls her from her musing about blood sacrifices and the Lord of Light. 

"Enter." 

The door swings open for the briefest of seconds to allow her visitor to slip into Meredith's room before swinging shut once more. In the fading light of her room Lysa stands rosy cheeked and bright eyed. Meredith doesn't think she's ever seen her sister look so pleased and she wonders why her sister is so delighted. 

"Oh Meredith, you'll never guess what's happened!" Her younger sister cries as she throws herself onto Meredith's bed. 

"Cat is betrothed." 

"No silly Meredith! This is far more important than all that!" Her sister giggles as she leans closer to whisper, "Shall I tell you a secret?" 

"Well, you must now mustn't you?" 

"Petyr has kissed me. He is such a sweet kisser, it was not even unpleasant when he stuck his tongue in my mouth!" 

Meredith tries not to display her shock to openly. 

"He kissed you?" 

"Oh yes! Right beneath the great oak growing just beyond the gates!" 

Anger at the boy's boldness burns hot in Meredith chest. This is not the first time something like this has happened, though it was much more common when they were younger and played at kissing in the privacy of the godswood and shadowed alcoves. As they got older the games became less frequent, as Petyr's gaze began lingering on Catelyn too long and too often Meredith stopped entertaining his games at all. Too uncomfortable with the feeling that what they had been engaging in was wrong. 

As she'd gotten older and the Septa assigned to teach her of her marital duties had informed her about intercourse and how a woman got with child Meredith became even more uncomfortable with the games Petyr had so loved to play. 

Lysa should know better than to let him kiss her as the news will enrage their father should he ever find out and Petyr should know better then to toy with Lysa so. It is obvious that the feelings the younger girl has for the boy from the Fingers is not something that should be encouraged as it will only lead to her being heartbroken and, quite possibly, a bitter hatred for her eldest sister. 

"I am... Surprised that he would be so bold as to kiss you in the open." Meredith finds herself gritting out, not wanting to alienate her sister or destroy her happiness. 

"It was terribly romantic." Lysa breathes. 

And without hesitance Meredith reaches out to take her sister's round face between her fingers as she begs, "You will be careful, yes? I understand you're not a simple girl but if anything were to happen that would compromise your virtue father would be beyond furious with Petyr." 

It's a manipulation in its rawest form but it works its magic as best it can. 

Lysa's eyes widen a great deal and she nods her head almost stupidly as she cries out, 'Of course! Of course I will keep this quiet! Father mustn't know! He would punish poor Petyr if he ever found out! Oh Meredith, promise you'll not tell a soul!" 

She's going to regret it, she already knows this, but her sister has never looked at her with just joy or devotion or even kindness and Wylla finds the steel around her heart melting into a puddle in her chest. 

"Very well, Lysa, I promise." 

With a exuberant squeal Lysa launches herself at Meredith, pressing a chaste kiss to the older girl's cheek before flying from the room and into the corridor, leaving Meredith to stare at the spot her sister had only occupied moments before. 

 

* * *

 

"Do you think it's true?" Emure asks years later when Meredith is only just seven and ten. 

News of Lyanna Stark's kidnapping has spread across the Seven Kingdoms far too swiftly and the whispers are not pleasant. People say she was taken by the Prince and two of the Kingsguards, weeping and begging and broken. Meredith doubts this as she's heard how Brandon Stark speaks of his younger sister and while she does not love her sister's betrothed she likes him well enough to know that he would never lie about his siblings. 

If he claims Lyanna Stark has the wolf's blood then it is not likely she was so easily stolen as the nobility and small folk of Westeros seem to imply in their gossiping. 

This does not, however, mean that her disappearance will not cause trouble for those living in Westeros. Already there is word of Robert Baratheon's fury, only just kept at bay by the knowledge that at this moment Brandon Stark and his father ride south for King's Landing. 

Meredith sighs as she steps over loose stones, the current of the little stream she and Edmure frequent tugging insistently at her ankles. The girl makes sure to keep herself steady as she weaves over the smooth, slick stones as she moves closer to where her little brother sits on the banks. 

"I do not know, Edmure. It is possible." Meredith says. 

For a moment it is silent before her brother speaks again, "Do you think Lysa will be well enough to come with us soon? Father said she is unwell." 

"You shouldn't be speaking of such things with father, Edmure." Meredith reprimands. 

There is not bite to her words and Edmure merely rolls his eyes at her. Meredith allows it, not wanting to tell him the reason their sister has been so ill as of late and knowing that the best way to keep him from asking questions is to annoy him. Though, Meredith is very worried for her sister. Weak willed and flighty though the girl may be. It is, by technicality, her fault that Petyr begot a child on her but Meredith does not think it her sister's fault that she is ill. 

No. That fault lies with her father. 

For while it was Lysa's blunders that landed her in Petyr's bed when she knew it to be improper, it is her father's anger that prompted him to give Lysa Moon Tea poorly made. After her sister had fallen ill all those weeks ago Meredith had gone to the Septa and asked why her sister would be so ill from something so commonly used, thankfully her Septa had taken some amount of pity and had spoken as truly as her propriety would allow. It will be a wonder if Lysa is ever able to have children after this whole ordeal. 

Meredith hates her father for what he's done to Lysa. If she had taken the tea willingly things might have been much different, but instead he had used his daughter's blind trust in the fact that he would take care of her, his family, to abort her babe without her knowledge. 

It is a cruel, twisted thing Hoster Tully has done... But even so Meredith cannot blame him. Not when it was Lysa's own foolishness and Petyr's yearning for Catelyn that got the youngest Tully daughter with child in the first place. 

Petyr Baelish has ruined her sister, has ruined whatever happiness Lysa might have been able to find, and it is Petyr that has earned the full force of Meredith's hate. 

"Have you spoken with Uncle Brynden?" Edmure asks after a brief while. 

"No, should I have?" 

"I suppose not. He didn't have much out of the ordinary to say when he spoke to me this morning." 

Meredith is not surprised. Edmure is only three and ten, he does not understand the politics of Nobility while he spends much of his time with their father, watching him as he leads the Riverlands, Meredith suspects her uncle is spending so much time with Edmure because the boy needs more then just their father. 

"Is it about your lessons? I thought you were enjoying them." Meredith says. 

Edmure shrugs, looking almost bashful when he finally musters the courage to speak. "I enjoy my lessons with Ser Desmond but I feel as though I'm making no progress." 

"That will change in time, Ed." 

"You are already an accomplished marks-woman!" 

"Ha! Marks-woman you say? Edmure, I am decent enough with a bow... You make me sound far better then I actually am." 

"You still shoot better then a number of the boys Ser Desmond trains." 

"Boys, Edmure, one day they will be men and shoot far better then I ever will." Meredith lowers herself to sit on the banks next to her beloved brother. "One day you will wield a bow better then I." 

Something softens in his eyes, causing Meredith to smile brightly and nudge the younger boy with a damp elbow. 

They stay like that for several hours, serene and blissfully unaware of the war brewing under their noses. The two Tully children play in the stream and muddy their clothes and only return to the Castle, and their father's amused smiles, when the guard that always accompanies them says that it is time to return. And the sky is painted a brilliant red that will one day forever remind Meredith of blood and torture and broken promises. 

But today is not that day. 

And Meredith, first of her name, of the great noble house of Tully only thinks that the sky reminds her a bit of Catelyn's hair or the ruby earrings her father had gifted her when she'd turned one and ten. It is a fleeting comparison, gone before it can even truly form in her mind, lost to the joy that surges through her when Edmure pulls on one of her wild curls and races off toward the castle in the distance with Meredith running close at his heels. 


	2. Chapter 2

"Will you not eat, Cat? The cook prepared a special treat for you." Meredith coaxes, stroking back the tangled mass of her sister's fiery hair. 

Catelyn merely sobs, her face twisting to press against the soft fabric of her pillow. Whether it is for her own comfort or to hide her pain from others Meredith is unsure, but her heart aches for her beloved sister who has locked herself away from the rest of the keep since news of Brandon Stark's death reached Riverrun mere days ago. The lack of care her sister is showing herself is beginning to show. 

Pale skin nearly translucent, lustrous hair tangles and greasy, deep bruises forming beneath her eyes causes the blood shooting through the whites surrounding her irises to appear even more vibrant then her hair has ever been. 

Meredith moves to pull the lid off of the dish one of the serving maids brought up only moments ago. 

"Please, sweet cat, for me? You must eat something, it will help." Meredith promises even though it feels like a lie. 

"I am not hungry." Catelyn's voice is so incredibly hoarse. 

"Only a few bites, I promise." 

It takes a moment for her sister to respond to the coaxing but eventually Cat moves to sit at the edge of her bed and Meredith is quick to press the bowl of porridge into her sister's trembling hands, helping her spoon more and more of the thick substance into her mouth until Catelyn has eaten most of the porridge. Then Meredith is setting aside the bowl before turning to pull her sister from the bed. 

Catelyn allows Meredith to guide her to the tub the maids had filled, the water is lukewarm at best by now but Catelyn needs to bathe and at this point it doesn't matter if the water is steaming or no. She lights a fire and prompts her sister to remove her nightdress as she does so, watching from the corner of her eye to ensure Catelyn's compliance. 

Thankfully, Catelyn handles her grief better then Lysa did. 

There is no wailing, no screaming, so clawing at her belly or at her sisters. There is only a sorrowful glint in her sister's pretty eyes as she strips for her bath. Meredith turns her attention back to the fire, the slosh of water moving the only thing that tells her Catelyn has stepped into the tub. 

"Would you like to go on a walk with me today, Cat?" Meredith asks as she moves to kneel beside her sister, reaching for the bar of soap and dipping it into the water as her sister leans back to wet her hair. "I think it would do you good." 

It might put color back in her sister's cheeks, might put some spark back in her eyes, it might do a lot of things but Meredith doubts she will leave her bed this day. Which is fine, better then what Lysa has been doing these past months. What is a day spent in bed mourning someone you love when you could be wandering the castle looking lost and angry, spitting and raving and yowling at people as they pass you by. 

No. 

This is not the best option but it is preferable. Let Catelyn mourn her dead lover and in time it will be different. In time she will heal. 

Meredith distracts herself from her thoughts by rubbing sweet smelling oils into her sister's hair before reaching for a fine toothed comb which she uses to untangle the fiery red strands. She hums all the while, some nonsense she must have heard in passing for she hardly remembers the words, only the tune. It is soothing in its own way, gentle almost, and when paired with the soft lemongrass scent of the oils soaking into her sister's hair Meredith finds herself near to nodding off. 

She is saved from such a fate by a gentle knock upon the door. 

"One moment!" She calls, already rising and making her way over to the door. 

It's easy to pull the door open a crack and slip her head out without revealing Catelyn's vulnerable form behind her. 

"Yes?" 

The serving girl waiting in the corridor bows her head, eyes lowering just slightly as she say, "Your Lord father wishes to speak with you, Lady Meredith." 

"Thank you, I will go to him in a moment." Meredith promises before slipping back into the room and shutting the door. 

Catelyn is still sitting in the bath when Meredith moves to kneel beside her, a gentle smile tugging at her mouth as she reaches out to stroke Catelyn's hair. The older girl must have rinsed her hair because it's slicker then it was moments ago and there's water beading on the tip of Catelyn's nose. 

"Father wishes to see me, will you be alright on your own for a bit? If not I can have Wylla come." 

Wylla is Lord Utherydes Wayn's cousin, a girl more to Meredith's age then Cat's and yet the two girls have always been rather fond of one another, but when Catelyn refuses to have the other girl come and keep her company it is with a respectful nod that Meredith moves to gather a linen cloth and a dress for Catelyn before heading off to find her father. 

He is likely in his Solar as it's where he tends to see the members of his more immediate family. Claims it's more personal. Meredith isn't going to argue whether it's more personal or not, all she really thinks about whenever she visits her father's solar is that he only really summons her for a private audience when something important has happened, and then Meredith is to worked up to think about how inviting her father's solar might be. 

This time isn't much different. 

Meredith makes sure she is the epitome of Southern Nobility, a carefully crafted mask hiding the discomfort she is beginning to feel as she makes her way closer to the door that separates her father from the rest of the castle. When she reaches said door Meredith takes a moment to smooth out her own gown and push a wayward curl behind her ear before tapping her knuckles against the oak. 

"Enter!" 

And so she does, pushing open the door with more confidence then she feels and smiling when she sees her father already moving across the room. He embraces her even before the door shuts, brushing a hand down the back of her head and pressing a chaste kiss to her temple before pulling away to offer a warm smile. Something warm settles in Meredith's chest. 

She might not have agreed with her father's actions regarding Lysa and her bastard but... He is still her father. He is still the same man who stood her on the top of his feet so that he could dance her around the hall when she'd still been too young to properly dance, he is still the same man who kissed her palms when she'd tripped and scrapped the tender flesh of her hands. He is still her father and Meredith will forever love him. 

These little shows of affection only prove to remind her of that. 

"Mare, you're looking well." Her father says after a moment. 

Meredith shuts the door, ignoring the pet name Edmure gave her when he was a small boy, and moves to sit at the table near the fireplace. 

"I am well, and you? I know you vistited the Maester recently." 

"The aches and pains of a body well beyond its prime, worry not." Her father sits across from her, blue eyes bright. 

They share the same eyes. Tully blue with a darker line separating the iris from the whites, small pupils that make their eyes appear alert and entirely too focused, and the outer corners slightly up tilted. Cat shares there father's eyes as well, as does Edmure. The only Tully child to be an exception of the rule is Lysa and even then her eyes are still Tully blue. 

Meredith does notice, however, that her father's eyes seem watery and bloodshot. Either he is not sleeping well or he is falling ill. 

"As long as you continue to see Maester Vyman." Is all Meredith says. 

"Your concern is touching, Mare." 

A moment of silence passes in which her father observes her. There is nothing cruel in his gaze so Meredith does not attempt to make herself seem any more proper then she already appears. She merely lets him watch her for a few minutes before speaking again. 

"You wished to see me." 

"Yes," her father's eyes harden a bit, "as you know Lord Stark is dead." 

"Does this have to do with Catelyn then? I don't see any other reason you would wish to speak with me."  

A mighty sigh, vaguely exasperated but not quite, "An agreement was reached before Lord Rickard's death. Your sister would marry Brandon Stark and in doing so our houses would be unified. Now that Lord Rickard and his heir are dead Winterfell will pass to Eddard Stark and I am reluctant to have your sister wed him." 

"Why? Catelyn will do her duty." Meredith states, so sure in herself that there is no hint of questioning in her tone. 

"Yes, that is why I am reluctant to have them wed." Her father leans back, runs a hand over his jaw, and sighs, "Eddard Stark is Lord of Winterfell and is marching South with an army of Northern Soldiers, he intends to keep the agreement between houses Stark and Tully... Jon Arryn has also shown interest in an alliance as well." 

"You want Lysa to marry Jon Arryn then? I understand your concern with Catelyn but I think it's unfounded and ridiculous, she'll do what is required of her... Lysa will not be so easily convinced." 

Another long moment of silence before her father says, "Jon Arryn is aware of your sister's situation and has agreed to marry her regardless." 

"Well, I suppose if you believe it is for the best..." 

"It is, he will offer her a proper title and a comfortable life. Perhaps one day she will give him a sons and daughters." Her father says. 

"And what of Eddard Stark? You said you were reluctant to have him marry Catelyn. Is there any particular reason why?" Meredith inquires. 

She has a sneaking suspicion she already knows the answer. Catelyn is her most beloved sister but Meredith can admit there are faults in her sister's character. The eldest Tully child is too quick to judge, to quick to cast blame, and madly in love with Brandon Stark. Whatever joy she might find in Winterfell will always be paled by the ghosts that linger where only Catelyn might see them. 

Catelyn is also, without a doubt, their father's favorite daughter. 

It is not a fact that necessarily bothers Meredith as she knows her father loves her dearly, and where his affection for Catelyn may be amplified Brynden Tully loves Meredith best of all his brother's children. 

"Meredith, I have no intention of marrying your sister to Eddard Stark." It is said so gently that Meredith almost misses what her father does not say. 

"You want me to marry Eddard Stark then? Is that wise? I know that the agreement you struck up with Lord Stark was between Brandon and Catelyn specifically but surely Lord Eddard would expect the original agreement to be upheld to an extent." 

The red in her father's hair shines like copper has he shakes his head. "Lord Stark is an honorable man who will uphold the original agreement between his father and I but he showed no signs of offense when I suggested he marry you rather then your sister." 

"I see." 

"Remember our words, mare." _Family, duty, honor,_ "By doing this you are both honoring and protecting your family." 

"Yes, father." 

Something sad settles in her father's eyes. 

Meredith just feels vaguely numb, neither upset nor elated to learn of her newfound betrothal. Years ago her father had entertained the idea of a betrothal between Meredith and the heir of House Yronwood, obviously nothing ever became of such ambitions but there had been a time when Meredith had looked forward to it. To seeing Dorne and the sand and perhaps even lands beyond Westeros. 

What is one extreme when compared to another? 

Instead of sand and sweat and sapphire skies Meredith will merely have to adjust to snow and chill and morning the color of a grey feather. 

"When will Lord Stark be arriving?" Meredith asks. 

"In a moon turn." 

"That is not so far away." 

"It is enough time to prepare." 

"Yes," Meredith agrees, "I suppose so." 

Without much thought Meredith rises from her seat, makes her way around the table, and presses a chaste kiss to her father's cheek before pulling away. She does not need to be dismissed, her father would have added more to their conversation or told her to sit if there was more to be said, so there is no worry that her father will reprimand her for leaving as she makes her way out of the solar and into the hall. 

 

* * *

 

Neither of her sisters are happy to hear of Meredith's betrothal. Lysa because the thought of marrying a man twice her age is more an insult to her pride then anything and as late the youngest Tully daughter has begun to rely on nothing but her pride, she rages as silently as she can and refuses to speak to both their father and Meredith for the rest of the day. This is hardly a bother to Meredith as the younger girl has been lashing out like this for months. 

Lysa's anger is not what saddens her. 

Instead it is Catelyn's worry and her own disappointment that makes Meredith feel so incredibly guilty for not trying to persuade their father to marry Cat to Eddard Stark. And as the days pass and the castle prepares for the small retinue of Northern soldiers making their way to Riverrun Meredith's agitation must become incredibly obvious for Edmure notices it and runs to tell their father after Meredith assures him that it is nothing and that she is merely tired. 

Later that night Catelyn shows up at her chamber door. 

The eldest Tully girl has improved a great deal in the past few days since hearing about Brandon Stark's murder. There is color in her cheeks again and the sorrow in her eyes does not seem so harrowing. 

"May I come in?" Catelyn asks, looking pointedly beyond Meredith's shoulder. 

"Of course, my apologies." Meredith mutters, stepping to the side and pulling the door open a bit wider so as to allow her sister to enter before shutting the door. 

"I'm not angry with you." Catelyn says suddenly, eyes never leaving Meredith's. 

"I never thought that you were." 

"Perhaps not but I want to make sure that my actions have not caused you undue harm." Catelyn takes a deep breath and continues, "I am not upset that you will be marrying Eddard Stark and becoming Lady of Winterfell in my place. I am merely... I loved Brandon Stark and the King robbed me of a life with him. That is why I am upset about your coming nuptials." 

"If you would prefer that I marry after the war or not at all I will speak to father immediately." Meredith replies. 

"There is no need. I've spoken with father already, he and I are in agreement that this marriage will be good for you and beneficial to our house." Then Catelyn is reaching out and taking Meredith's hands in her own. "Do not let my sorrow effect you so, Meredith, I am so very happy for you... And I am thankful to you as well." 

"You have no need to be thankful, Cat." 

"By marrying Eddard Stark you are saving me from any more grief I might experience as his wife. While I do not think Eddard is a bad man he is not his brother and it is unfair to compare them but I find myself doing so anyway." 

"Cat I-" 

"I would, however, avoid Lysa for the time being. She is not pleased to learn of her betrothal to a man older than even our father." 

"How is she?" 

"Lysa is Lysa." 

Meredith doesn't need that reminder. 

Of all her siblings Lysa is the most predictable, and that in Meredith's opinion makes her the most dangerous. Because she's so easy to offend, so quick to judge, and more then capable of making a slight to her being out of nothing. Lysa will never forgive their father, this is predictable, it is what she does with her anger that makes her dangerous. 

Unfortunately the only ones who seem to see that are Uncle Brynden and Meredith herself. Everyone else thinks that Lysa's anger will pass in time. Obviously, they don't know Lysa as well as they like to think. 

Meredith turns her attention back to Catelyn, who has moved from standing before her to rummaging through the small chest of jewels on the bureau where Meredith keeps her small clothes and shifts and stockings. This is not the first time Catelyn has done this, gone through Meredith's things to see what she likes best, so the younger girl merely lays herself across her bed and watches as her sister goes about her task. 

"Have you decided what you will wear to your wedding?" Catelyn asks after a moment, there are several jewels laid before her. 

"The green dress I had made three moons ago." 

"The one with the lace work?" 

"Yes." 

It is a simple dress. Modest in its cut with a neckline that shows only her collarbones and the slightest hint of her breasts, the lace that trims the sleeves and decorates the bodice is dyed a near gold color. It happens to be Meredith's favorite dress. 

"You will look very pretty... Perhaps you will let me assist you on your wedding day? I have always loves braiding your hair." 

"Yes, Cat," Meredith finds her voice oddly hoarse, Catelyn hasn't braided her hair in years, "I would very much like that." 

Something passes in the space between them, a warm something that makes Meredith feel incredibly sad when she thinks of leaving Catelyn and travelling to the North. They are not the closest of siblings but Meredith loves Cat, and the fact that she will never truly belong in these wall after her marriage hits her like a punch. Oh, she will always have a home here but once she gives Eddard Stark her maiden's gift and bears him a son it will be different. 

Things are always different after such things have happened. 

Meredith just hopes that this sudden sense of homesickness fades enough that she is not a blubbering mess of the day of her wedding. 

When Catelyn leaves, with promises to help Meredith with her embroidery, Meredith kisses her sister upon her rosy cheek and smiles at the older girl who rolls her eyes and smile back before disappearing down the corridor. Meredith waits a moment before shutting the door and preparing herself for bed. 

 

* * *

 

"What is it like to lay with a man?" Meredith asks an older serving maid the day her husband is set to arrive. 

The woman has had three healthy children, a boy and two girls, and she has always been incredibly kind to Meredith. Acting as a sort of mother when her own passed and her Septa could offer no real information then that which she had been taught. 

Amara doesn't seemed phased by Meredith's question and continues setting out her breakfast on the small table. 

"Has your septa not spoken of this to you?" 

"Oh, I know how it is done... My Septa made sure I was aware of that much... But will it hurt terribly?" Meredith asks, voicing her question softly lest someone else overhear her should she speak to loud. 

The older woman raises a dark eyebrow, looking entirely unamused by Meredith's naivety. 

"It may, the first few times, if you are unprepared." 

"Unprepared?" 

"Yes. Unprepared... Has your Septa really not spoken to you of this?" 

"I was told that it would be uncomfortable and that I would bleed." 

Amara mutters something about idiot septas under her breath before turning to Meredith. "You will feel discomfort but I doubt you will bleed. It is likely you have already lost your maiden's gift with as much as you take that blasted horse of yours out." 

"Oh, I see. Is that an issue?" 

"Shouldn't be. You haven't bedded a man so you are technically still a maid. It just means you won't bleed all over the bed covers." 

Heat blossoms in the younger girl's cheeks. 

"And... And what of being... Prepared." 

"Prepared. Aroused. By the gods has your septa taught you nothing?" another muttered curse before, "If your husband is not a complete fool he will attempt to arouse you before taking you. It will prepare you for his penetration." 

"What if I do not find my husband appealing?" 

"Then you close your eyes or look over his shoulder and pretend he is someone else." 

"Amara! How can you be so crass!" 

The woman shrugs and says, "I've brought three babes into this world and I have bedded my husband far more then that. I know things that I doubt your Septa has ever experienced. Trust me, it is better to be aroused. If pretending your husband is Aegon the Conqueror or Florian arouses you then so be it." 

Meredith wrings her fingers and tries not to meet the older woman's gaze, it is likely she will find nothing but soft amusement there but Meredith is so terribly embarrassed and maybe she shouldn't have asked but... But... Her Septa has not told her of being aroused or being prepared. Meredith finds this new information too important not to pursue. 

"And how would one know if one were aroused, as you said?" Meredith practically squeaks. 

"Well, a more obvious sigh is that you will become slick between your thighs," Amara pauses and stares at Meredith for a long moment. "May I speak freely Lady Meredith?" 

"Oh, certainly! I would not have asked if I had not wanted your opinion on the matter." 

"Very well," Meredith notices the first sparks of agitation in her maid's eyes, as if she is afraid of offending Meredith. "It is all well and good to be married but might I suggest becoming more familiar with your own body before your husband becomes familiar with it? There is a great deal of pleasure to be found in this life and some of it can take place in the bed." 

It's not that Meredith is unfamiliar with the idea. She'd once sought to explore her body, when it was at the awkward transition between youth and adult, but her Septa had nearly caught her and Meredith had been too mortified to think of trying again. But perhaps there is some merit in doing so. If Amara is suggesting it then perhaps it is worth trying. 

Amara's opinion is, after all, of high value to Meredith. 

"Yes, but only at night when you are unlikely to be caught." Amara cautions. 

And it is with a fierce blush and a squeak that Meredith nods her head and says, "I shall consider it." 

Thankfully Amara does not laugh, nor does she seem to judge Meredith for her curiosity. The older woman merely nods her head, tells Meredith her breakfast will grow cold and that her uncle would like to see her when she'd finished, and leaves the room with a small bow of the head. The head does not leave Meredith's face until much later that morning. 

 

* * *

 

Late that evening when Riverrun grows quiet and dark Meredith lies in her bed, fingers skimming over the peaks of her breasts and tentatively between her legs where the curls there have dampened and her thighs quiver. She bites into her lip, bites back a moan that threatens to spill out when her middle finger brushes a hard nub that sends shivers through her body. 

Heavy breathing and soft whimpers escape, prompting Meredith to glance at the door to ensure no one has heard and come to investigate. 

She feels too hot beneath her covers and oddly chilled whenever she manages to find the courage required to throw them off and expose herself to the pale moonlight filling her room with soft pale glow. 

Meredith keeps an eye on the door as she drags her fingers across her body with a bit more force, a bit more purpose, chasing the pleasure that is making her thighs twitch and her stomach quiver, quiver, quiver. And then it hits her. A sharp bite of pleasure that has her back bowing and fingers tangling in the sheets beneath her body. The pleasure lasts for a moment longer then Meredith expected but the after effects make her lids heavy. 

Without much thought Meredith pulls the tunic she sleeps off of the pillow she'd laid it on and pulls it over her head before rolling onto her side, aware from the door, and allowing herself to catch her breath. She isn't aware that she's fallen asleep until Amara wakes her the next morning looking like she knows something extremely private and is amused by it. 

Meredith finds herself incredibly flustered by can't help but that the older woman for her advice. 

"Come now, child, I was only answering your questions." Amara laughs, eyes dancing. "Let's not waste time on secrets. You're husband is on his way. Should be here by supper." 

"He is not my husband yet, Amara." Meredith sighs. 

"Ah, but he will be soon and then you will have other pleasures to think about." 

Meredith's answering squawk is nearly drowned out by the older woman's boisterous laughter. 


	3. Chapter 3

The day Lord Stark is due to arrive at Riverrun, Meredith finds herself a mess of nerves and worries. She tries to distract herself with embroidery and when that doesn't work she takes a book from the small shelf in her room but the simple action of reading does nothing to soothe her. What she wants, what she needs, is to take Roham from the stables and go riding along the riverside. 

Unfortunately, her father has ordered her to remain within the walls of Riverrun where she is safe from Targaryen Loyalists who might try to take her and either drag her to King's Landing as a political hostage or kill her and send her body to her father as warning. Neither is a fate Meredith wishes for herself, so she had submitted to her father's orders with little more then mild fussing. 

It hadn't been this bad before, the boredom. Usually Meredith could find something to do that would take her mind off of how restless she felt. Now Meredith finds herself pacing back and forth across the floor of her bed chambers, muttering under her breath, and without much thought moves to grab the heavy cloak draped across the foot of her bed. Once it's wrapped around her shoulders and the hood is secured Meredith strides from her bed chambers and into the chaos of the corridor beyond. 

She is halfway to her destination when she is stopped by her uncle Brynden and she cannot help the joy she feels at seeing him. Ever since his return from the Battle of the Bells where he'd fought against the royalist forces only two days prior her uncle has been discussing battle plans and other such things with the Lord of Riverrun. Meredith had only seen him briefly upon his return but the fact that he was unharmed during the battle lifts a weight from her shoulders whenever she manages to catch a glimpse of him.  

"Uncle Brynden," she greets with a bright smile, "I did not expect to see you so soon! How goes things?" 

The older man smiles, a bit more thinly but no less kind, and says, "Supplies are being readied and weapons sharpened. All should be ready a fortnight after your Warden of the North arrives with Lord Arryn." 

"Lord Stark is not my anything, Uncle Brynden. Not yet in any case." Meredith can feel heat creeping up her neck and wonders how blotchy she looks, wonders if her uncle finds amusement in her discomfort. 

"Where are you going, Meredith? Your father has instructed you to remain within Riverrun." Her uncle says, perhaps only just now noticing the cloak or choosing now to bring it up. Either way, Meredith is thankful for the change of subject. 

"I was heading toward the ramparts, would you like to accompany me?" 

"In this weather?" 

Meredith glances at the window, beyond the sky is a light gray and rain is falling in fat drops. Thankfully it is not a hard rain and Meredith will suffer no discomfort if she spends a few quiet moments outside. She turns back to her uncle. 

"I am... Restless." Meredith admits, her uncle's eyes soften a great deal. 

"Very well, but I suggest you return to your chambers within an hour. The sky is growing darker and it would not do for you to catch your death of cold." 

Then her uncle is gone, striding down the hall in a way that makes him appear larger than life. Meredith wishes she had his confidence, his ability to simply command respect from others. But then, if she had such skills Meredith wouldn't know what to do with them anyway. So it's with a shake of the head that the young Lady turns and makes her way to the ramparts. 

Rain has long since stained the ramparts a darker grey then they typically are and the stone shines wetly in the dim light offered by the sun hidden behind angry, grey clouds. Meredith pulls the hood of her cloak higher over her head and leans against the crenelation, careful not to fall through any of the little gaps between the stone. Once she's settled against the stone, arms growing wet from where the rain hits them, Meredith turns her attention to the single road leading from Riverrun. 

Soon her husband-to-be will travel down that road, mere hours from now he and a host will be arriving down that road. To wed her and bed her and give her a new name. 

Meredith pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, gnawing the flesh until she can almost feel it growing red beneath her teeth. 

To say she is nervous would be an understatement, to a degree. Meredith has never truly left the Riverlands before and while she knows how to run a household she never suspected she would be wed off to someone as influential as Eddard Stark now is, because she's a second born child but hardly the only daughter. And besides, Cat has always been the one that caught the attention of others. Cat is also the one their father so dotes on, taking her with him when he travels to other houses and when she was younger sitting her on his lap when he wrote his missives. 

With a huff Meredith drops her head into her hands. 

Gods, she finds herself wishing she were more like Cat with her perfectly demure smile and polished manners. Meredith's no slouch herself but she's also not what one would think of when envisioning a proper Lady. But then, perhaps it is not so bad? The women of the North aren't exactly perfect by standards set in the South. The Mormont women are known to carry blades and wear men's clothes. Perhaps Meredith will not be so out of place in the North. 

"What are you doing out in the cold, sweetest sister?" Edmure inquires from somewhere behind her causing Meredith to jump near out of her skin. 

"I could ask you the same." 

"Why, I am seeing to the well being of my most beloved sister of course." 

"Don't let Lysa hear you saying that, she hates me enough as it is." 

Edmure, who at some point had come to lean against the merlon beside her, frowns before reaching to slick his hair back from his eyes. 

"She is angry because you are to marry Lord Stark?" 

"And become Lady of the North while she is to marry a man older then even our father." 

"Would you like me to speak with her?" 

Meredith shakes her head, "Don't bother. It won't do anyone any good to try and talk Lysa out of her ire." 

"But it is unfair to you." 

"Life is full of unfairness, Ed, best not let it bother you too much." 

Something flits across her beloved little brother's face, something like irritation, but it fades soon enough and in its place settles a certain type of melancholy. 

"Your husband-to-be arrives today, tomorrow night you and Lysa will wed, and then once this war ends you will be off to your respective homes." Edmure says it sadly, as if the thought of her leaving is a terrible one. 

And perhaps it is, Meredith has always been Edmure's favorite sister and they share many fond memories of youthful adventures both within their ancestral home and beyond its walls. When she and Lysa are gone it will only be Cat who remains, for a short time at least, but Cat will not sully her skirts with the red mud from the riverbanks nor will she practice shooting with Edmure. 

"I will not leave for some time yet, Edmure." 

"And only if your Lord husband is not killed in the fighting." 

"Ed, don't say such things." 

"It's true, is it not? If he dies you will remain as you won't have given birth to an heir... I'm sorry, I've upset you. I seem to be doing a lot of upsetting today." 

Instead of replying to such a statement Meredith merely reaches for her brother's hand, holding it tight even when the rain begins to chill her fingers. It is the best comfort she can offer. The best comfort she knows. For words are wind and easily misinterpreted and sometimes... Sometimes physical contact is so much better then muttered words. 

They stay like that for some time before Edmure pulls her back into the keep with the excuse that he is growing hungry and that it is too cold to leave her in the rain. Meredith allows him to escort her to her chambers and allows him to press a chaste kiss to her cheek before leaving him in the hall. Once safely tucked into her own room, the door bolted to ensure her privacy, Meredith strips out of her cloak and as she's walking past her vanity to hang her cloak before the fire Meredith catches her reflection in the mirror. 

A strong, square jaw more suited for a boy in Meredith's opinion then a girl, dimpled cheeks and a rosy mouth, the top lip smaller then the bottom... There's a scar just above her eyebrow where she'd hit her head the first time her gelding had thrown her from her saddle and another above her temple which she got when she and Edmure had been sneaking around where they aught not have been sneaking and Meredith's foot had slipped. 

It is a moment of insecurity in which Meredith wonders if her husband-to-be will consider her attractive. 

She does not possess the classical Southern beauty of Catelyn nor does she have the sweet innocence of Lysa. Amara once said that there was a steadiness to Meredith, a sense of endurance, of strength. Meredith doesn't see it but she doubts Amara would lie to her in such a way, but then, she'd been very small when her maid had said it. 

With a sigh Meredith turns her attention away form the mirror and the auburn haired lass staring back at her through Tully eyes. It won't do her any good to fret over her appearance for it is what it is and nothing save dyes and special creams will change it. 

 

* * *

 

Later that afternoon Amara arrives with several maids carrying steaming water. Meredith lets them pass through the door and into her chambers where they quickly go about filling the small tub tucked away into a small side room just off of Meredith's bed chambers. Amara watches them with a critical eye before shooing them off when their task is complete and the bath is full of steaming water that smells faintly of honey and cinnamon. 

"Into the bath," Amara commands as she readies oils and creams and soaps on a little stand she's set beside the bath, "before it gets cold." 

Knowing better then to argue Meredith strips out of her clothing, tosses the pile near the door, and carefully steps into the water. She dunks below the surface when Amara tells her too as well, and comes up already attempting to wipe the water from her eyes while her maid begins lathering her hair with soap. 

"Why so much fuss?" Meredith asks after Amara has helped her rinse the soap from her hair. 

"Your Lord Stark will be arriving soon." 

"I'm sure he will have me whether I smell lovely or no." 

"But _I'll_ not have you smelling like a ruffian, girl." 

There is laughter in Amara's tone and Meredith smiles as she takes the cloth that is offered to her, washing her legs and belly and her arms while Amara carefully wraps her hair in another cloth to dry. Once her hair is out of the way Meredith leans forward so that Amara might help her with her back. Her maid works quickly, efficiently, leaving nothing but clear skin behind after she's dipped the cloth in the bathwater to rinse away the excess soap. 

it's a quick process, bathing, one the two of them have practiced for years. 

So when it's time to step out of the bath to dry Meredith does so with ease. She is given a small cloth to dry with and then a robe to where while Amara guides her to sit at the vanity where the older woman will brush sweet smelling oils into her hair until it is soft and gleaming. 

Meredith spares herself a moment's glance in the mirror before pulling a small chest of jewels closer to chose what she will wear this evening. She decides on a simple strand of pears to wear around her neck and wrist. She feels that anything else would be too flashy and anything less would make it appear as though she did not care. This is simple but not underwhelming. 

Amara seems to approve as she hums thoughtfully. 

"The blue dress with the high collar tonight." 

"You think?" 

"You've yet to wear it and I'm sure your father will be pleased to see you in something that isn't made of cotton or leather." 

"But the blue one?" 

"You look lovely in blue, my Lady!" 

"Perhaps the grey one? It is the color of Lord Stark's house after all." 

Amara stills, the comb in her hand halfway through Meredith's fiery locks, and it is then that Meredith knows she will be wearing the blue dress with the high collar and ivory buttons down the back whether she likes it or no. 

She sighs, "Very well, the blue one." 

"A wise decision, My Lady." 

Neither of them speak for some time after that. Amara continues combing through Meredith's hair until it's bone dry and gleaming prettily in the light while Meredith gnaws on her bottom lip until it's swollen and red. If the older woman notices she says nothing, instead she weaves and braids Meredith's hair into a simple Riverland fashion. Then she takes the pearls from Meredith's hand and carefully maneuvers the strand over her hair. 

Once it's settled Amara moves to grab the dress she's decided Meredith will be wearing to the feast. 

It's easy enough to slip into, even with her corset restricting her movements, and after Amara has done up all of the buttons on the back she allows Meredith to examine herself in the vanity's small mirror.

"A vision." Amara says, having likely seen something cool in Meredith's face. 

"Thank you, Amara... Have you seen Lysa and Cat?" 

"Lady Catelyn is preparing herself for Lord Stark and Lord Arryn's arrival." Amara speaks without meeting her eye. 

"And Lysa?" 

"Your sister refuses to leave her chambers." 

Meredith purses her lips. She might not agree with how her father treated Lysa's situation or how he rid her of her child but Meredith thinks that Lysa should at least be aware that her marrying Jon Arryn and leaving Riverrun might be best for her. At least she will be Lady of the Vale and mother to more children if she allows it. She will not have to suffer living in their father's home for the rest of her life when their father is unable to find her a husband. 

For their father _has_ been trying to find her a husband closer to her age and status but with word of Lysa's lost innocence having spread throughout the Riverlands and beyond... Well, Walder Frey had offered one of his sons, the youngest one, but not even Meredith would stoop so low as to have her sister marry one of Walder Frey's ilk. The man is a weasel with eyes that linger where they should not and hands that wander. 

Her uncle nearly removed Walder Frey's head from his shoulders when the Tully's traveled to the twins for Walder's most recent marriage and his eyes had followed the scoop of Meredith's gown in hopes of catching sight of her breasts. 

In comparison to Walder Frey, Lord Arryn is... Well, Meredith doesn't blame her sister but she certainly doesn't support her actions either. 

"She will be in attendance when the Lords arrive, of this she has no choice." 

"Your father?" 

"My uncle. He's grown tired of Lysa's behavior." 

"As most tend to do." Amara says with a wicked grin. 

Apparently Lysa's attitude is beginning to wear on more then just her immediate family. 

With a shake of the head Meredith moves to the wash basin where a small container of tooth powder and a rough-spun cloth waits. She wets the cloth in the basin, dips a bit of it into the mixture of herbs and salt and a bit of charcoal, and begins scrubbing at her teeth. After a bit she spits what's left in her mouth out into the basin and sets aside the cloth before turning to let Amara see her smile. 

"Presentable?" 

"Absolutely lovely, My Lady." 

Heat creeps up Meredith's face as she replies with a soft, "Thank you." 

"Now, off you get. Your husband-to-be is arriving soon and I suspect your father will want you to be there to greet him." 

"My father will hardly notice if I'm late... Especially if he's dealing with Lysa." 

Instead of dignifying that with a response Amara removes her apron and uses it to smack Meredith on the rump as the younger woman trots past. There's a muffled squeak and cry of, "Amara!" before the door to the chambers shut and the maid in question is left to her duties. 

 

* * *

 

"You look lovely, Little Trout." Her uncle says in greeting when Meredith steps out of the keep and into the courtyard. 

"Thank you, Uncle Brynden." Meredith replies as she steps up to wrap her arms around her beloved uncle's neck. 

He smells like the soap he so favors and boot polish. It's a sharp scent, one that sends tears to Meredith's eyes, but it's a comforting one as well. One Meredith hopes she will be able to smell again after the war. When she finally pulls away her uncle is looking at her with something very much like concern burning in his eyes. 

"I'm sorry," Meredith manages to choke out, suddenly feeling very silly. 

"It's alright, Trout, I understand." Her uncle places his roughened palm upon her head and smooths it back across her hair. "Now, Lord Arryn and Lord Stark will be arriving soon. Go stand with your siblings." 

"Has anyone seen Lysa?" Meredith eyes, eyes drifting to where her father and siblings are standing. 

Brynden Tully's eyes go incredibly dark and he shakes his head, "She should be arriving any minute now seeing as your father gave the guards leave to break down her door and drag her out in her night clothes should she refuse to be present for her husband-to-be's arrival." 

"Oh... I see." 

Meredith isn't sure what to say to that and her uncle seems more annoyed then angry which is good because her uncle will never allow the guards to drag Lysa out looking like a common whore. _Meredith_ would never allow them to drag her out looking like a common whore. But their father's anger with Lysa can only be soothed so much, she is lucky he has not come to collect her himself. 

For there would be nothing anyone could do to stop whatever hateful words Lysa would spit at their father, and no one would be there to stop her father from reacting poorly to it. 

 _Let them squabble and hate one another_ , Meredith thinks as she allows her uncle to guide her to stand beside her siblings, _but let the worst of it be done after this war is won_.  

She knows better then to hope for such things but hope for them she shall. 

"A vision, sister!" Emdure cries when he sees her, ducking down to plant a sloppy kiss upon her cheek as he is wont to do with any of the three young Ladies he is allowed to show affection for. 

"And you look half-way charming, Edmure." Meredith retorts, wiping her cheek of spit, "Did you actually take a bath." 

"Funny, for a moment I almost thought you to be a proper Southron Lady." Edmure quips back. 

Meredith opens her mouth to fire back something harsh but not cruel, it is the game they love to play after all and why should she not indulge in such games, when her father turns to shoot them a look that freezes Meredith's voice in her throat. It is the first time she has seen her father truly out and about in two weeks, Maester Vyman must have decided he was well enough to be out to greet their guests. 

"Stop your bickering, children, our guests arrive any minute now." 

"Yes father." Both Edmure and Meredith demure, eyes downcast and faces hot. 

Beside her Catelyn huffs a laugh beneath her breath which prompts Meredith to nudge her a bit harshly when their father's eyes are no longer upon them. Catelyn merely offers her an impish little grin before turning to face the gates. 

Then the courtyard falls silent save for the rustle of leaves and the sound of horses in the stable and the occasional sharp breath. Even Edmure, who is so full of life and laughter and restless energy refuses to move as they wait for the scout to announce their guest's arrival when he sees them from his position on the ramparts. Slowly, oh so slowly, Meredith begins to feel her muscles loosening and tightening and loosening again as she waits. 

She almost misses when Lysa is deposited between her and Edmure. The younger girl looks disheveled but she's been freshly bathed and wrangled into a dress of green silk. Meredith would think her sister quite lovely if it weren't for the ugly look spread across her features. 

Someone, Catelyn, reaches for her hand to give it a tight squeeze when Lysa shoots her a glare harsh enough to kill a man. 

Meredith's attention is ripped from her sister when the scout calls out, "They're approaching, My Lord!" 

And then the gates are being lifted and the drawbridge lowered and Meredith feels her stomach flop once before lunging up into her throat. She squeezes Catelyn's hand a bit tighter then lets the girl's hand go as the first of the Host from the Vale and the North arrive in the courtyard. 

Together, the Tully household falls into a respectful mix of bows and curtsies. All save Hoster and Brynden Tully who remain standing. 

"Lord Arryn, Lord Stark, welcome to Riverrun." Hoster Tully greets, voice strong despite the illness that had been leaching him of his strength just days before. 

Chancing a glance up, Meredith catches sight of two men who have either pushed their way forward through the host or had been at the very head the entire time. Likely the latter, neither seem the type to hide within the ranks of soldiers they deem expendable. 

One, the one Meredith knows is Lord Arryn, is a fair bit older then their father. His shoulders are broad, his hair is an odd mix of grey and white, when he speaks with her father Meredith notices that he has a few teeth missing, and the skin of his hands and closer to his hair is beginning to dapple. All in all, for a man nearly three times her sister's age he is not... Grotesque. Meredith certainly doesn't envy her sister for the match their father has made for her but Meredith finds herself thinking that she could have been married to a man much less respectable, a man with Frey features, a man with more bastards then common sense, a man who would go out of his way to disrespect Lysa for her foolishness. 

Jon Arryn is not the worst Lysa could do and he seems a kind enough man from what Meredith has witnessed thus far. 

So it is with a less heavy heart and a resolve to give the man a chance her sister never will that Meredith turns her attention away from Jon Arryn and too the man riding beside him. 

Eddard Stark is not as attractive as his brother Brandon had been described as. His face is long and solemn, his hair reaches his shoulders, and there is a seriousness in the way he carries himself that would make Meredith avoid him if she were younger and less aware of the situation. But his eyes, oh his eyes, they are certainly the prettiest part of his face. Grey like wet stone and framed by a curtain of thick black lashes. 

She is pulled from her musings of Eddard Stark and his pretty, pretty eyes when he dismounts his destrier alongside Jon Arryn and allows Hoster Tully to lead him into formal introductions. 

"My Heir, Edmure Tully." Hoster's voice is beginning to roughen but none mention it and Edmure bows his head respectfully before their father's attention moves to Lysa, "My youngest daughter Lysa Tully," the girl in question curtsies but her face is a sheet of ice and Meredith refrains from reaching out and pinching her side as she used to do whenever her sister was being especially petulant, thankfully none of the lords take offence. "And finally my daughters Meredith and Catelyn Tully." 

Both of them drop into another curtsy before rising to offer soft smiles. 

There are eyes burning into Meredith's face and when she glances to the left she finds herself staring right into the eyes of Eddard Stark, to which she blushes and ducks her head in semblance of a curtsy. 

She is saved from doing anything embarrassing by her uncle who has stepped forward to stand beside Lord Stark and Lord Arryn, "Come my Lords, we'll have servants see you to your chambers. The journey to Riverrun could not have been an easy one and I would see to your comfort before dinner." 

Ah yes, dinner. Where Meredith and Lysa will be permitted to speak with their husbands-to-be and form a semblance of familiarity before the wedding tomorrow evening. 

"You've our thanks, Lord Brynden." Jon Arryn replies, and then he and Eddard Stark are being guided into the keep and their meager belongings are being pulled from carts to be taken to their chambers. 

Meredith watches them go with a small frown. 

Once they've disappeared within the shadows of the keep Lysa whips around to glare murderously at Meredith before storming off to her own chambers. 

"Ignore her," Catelyn urges, "she is merely upset." 

"I am not angry with her, Sweet Cat." Meredith promises. 

Because she's not, not really. Neither of them had any control over whom they marry. While Meredith had tried to dissuade their father it had never been something she had any say in and so she had been promised to Eddard Stark in place of Catleyn, which could have very likely caused some chaffing to Lord Stark's honor, while Lysa had been accepted by a man who did not seem to mind the fact that she'd been dishonored. 

It does not mean that Lysa's anger at her is not hurtful. 

"Very well, shall we retire to my chambers before dinner?" Catelyn inquires, reaching up to fix one of the curls that has escaped to bounce around Meredith's head. 

"I would like that." Meredith replies. 

And so the older girl links her arm through Meredith's and guides her through the keep. Neither of them speaking until Catelyn has shut the door to her room and ordered the guard standing beyond the door to not disturb them until it is time for dinner. And while they discuss less important things like dresses and jewels and how to style Meredith's hair the younger girl cannot help but think of the solemn faced man with the incredibly sad grey eyes.  


	4. Chapter 4

Dinner is an affair. Neither good nor awkward, it simply is. They eat roasted quail and wash it down with Arbor Gold, for desert they have lemon cakes which are Catelyn's personal favorite but Meredith can't seem to find the strength to choke down any of the damned things when her husband-to-be is sitting beside her. She wants to speak with him, create some sort of fondness before their wedding tomorrow evening but Edmure is discussing the North with Lord Stark and Meredith is too busy trying to keep an eye on Lysa as the younger girl is all but spitting fire at the man who will be her husband tomorrow to butt into the conversation. 

They're halfway through the meal, for which Meredith is thankful because it means they can retire to their chambers as there are no plans for dancing or merrymaking, when Lord Arryn pulls her into conversation. Meredith is relieved, of course, as it means she can distract him from Lysa's venomous glares. 

"Your Lord Father tells me you are well versed in music." Lord Arryn remarks. 

"Not so well versed as Lysa or Catelyn, I'm afraid. My talents lie in far different places." Meredith says. 

"Oh? Do you take after your uncle then?" 

"In some ways, yes." Meredith takes a sip of her wine before continuing, "Uncle Brynden was the one who taught me to ride and to swim." 

Lord Arryn is not an attractive man but his laughter makes him seem younger. His is a kind laughter, not the laughter of someone looking to mock a young woman for her interests outside of music and needle point. 

"Your uncle is a fine man to have taught you such arts. Though, i doubt being able to swim will do you much good in the North." 

"No," Meredith agrees, hoping she doesn't sound as sad as she feels at the reminder, "I would suspect not." 

"I am sure Ned would take you riding if you wished it. He is perhaps not so accomplished a rider as Brandon was but I've yet to meet anyone with a steadier hand." Lord Arryn says. 

Meredith smiles, "I'll take your word for it, My Lord." 

Behind Lord Arryn Lysa rolls her eyes and digs into her quail. Lord Arryn either doesn't notice the tension rolling off of the youngest Tully daughter or being careful not to make it worse by acknowledging it. Because acknowledging Lysa's anger would make it worse. Which saddens Meredith because her sister might have been happy with her marriage if she weren't allowing her anger toward their father to rule her. 

Thankfully she's staying out of the conversation, opting instead to eat her meal as quickly as is polite and excuse herself. Meredith sighs through her nose before turning back to her own meal. Switching between eating and speaking with Lord Arryn while her brother and uncle keep Lord Stark entertained. Speaking with Jon Arryn is easy, he's rather intelligent and seems fairly easy to get along with. At some point Lord Stark manages to engage himself in their conversation, but only when Lord Arryn claims that he'd been a mischievous boy in his youth. 

Meredith laughs when polite but finds the conversation incredibly uncomfortable as she'd have liked to hear such stories from her husband-to-be and not the man that took him in as a ward and should be attempting to speak with his own soon-to-be bride. 

So when dinner ends Meredith excuses herself with a smile and allows Edmure to guide her from the hall. 

"Do you approve?" Edmure inquires after the doors to the hall have disappeared behind them. 

"Of Lord Arryn or Lord Stark?" 

"Lord Arryn of course, you barely spoke a word to Eddard and you've always been too protective of Lysa... Even when she doesn't deserve it." 

"Edmure, Lysa will always deserve our protection." 

"Even when she is cruel to you?" 

Meredith doesn't respond to that, instead choosing to ask her brother's opinion on Lord Stark. Their conversation is halted by a polite little clearing of the throat that has Edmure nearly jumping out of his skin. Meredith can't help but smirk as she levels her little brother with a look before turning to meet the eyes of none other then Lord Stark himself. 

She offers a curtsy and a, "Lord Stark." 

"Lady Meredith, Lord Edmure." 

Edmure turns back to Meredith after the initial greetings between himself and Lord Stark, takes her hand, places a chaste kiss to her knuckles, and excuses himself with some piss poor excuse of having forgotten to ask their uncle something rather important at dinner. Meredith watches him march right back down the corridor leading to the hall where they'd taken dinner, silently admiring his commitment,  before turning to Lord Stark. 

"Do you require anything, Lord Stark?" She asks, watching as red tints the apples of his cheeks. 

It's barely noticeable but it's there. Meredith finds it endearing, knowing that he's just as affected by her and she is by him. Because he is handsome. Perhaps not in the ways of Rhaegar Targaryen or his brother but there's a handsomeness to him all the same. A sweetness in his eyes that make them appear almost like fog. Meredith wonders if all of his emotions can be seen in his eyes. 

"Might I escort you to your chambers, Lady Meredith?" Lord Stark asks her. 

"If it please you, My Lord." 

He offers his arm, the right one as is expected of him, bent at the elbow and Meredith takes it gently. When he brings his elbow closer to his side Meredith politely tightens her grip o his arm, smiling sweetly when he clears his throat and begins walking down the corridor. 

Conversation is civil and neither of them speak of the war, or of their marriage, or of anything else that might sour the goodwill between them. By the time they've reached the door to Meredith's chambers they've discussed Riverrun and Winterfell and more about the Eyrie. Lord Stark is surprisingly open about it all, telling her about the Wolfswood and how he and his siblings would sneak off to play there as small children. In return Meredith tells him about how she taught Edmure to swim in the river and how the two of them along with Catelyn would play on the banks. 

He smiles softly at her as he places a kiss upon her knuckles. 

"I bid you good night, Lady Meredith." He says, stepping away to place distance between them. 

"And I you, Lord Stark." 

Then with one last smile at the solemn faced Lord, Meredith slips into her chambers and shuts the door. 

 

* * *

 

She wakes the next morning to someone flinging themselves across her bed and onto her body. It's Catelyn, Meredith knows because Lysa would never do such a thing as she's still so angry with Meredith and Edmure would rather pour water over her then fling himself at her. So it's with a loud groan and a shove at the body pinning her to the bed that Meredith rolls over and opens her eyes. 

"Good morning, Catelyn." Meredith greets the older girl. 

"Good morning, Meredith, are you ready to break your fast?" 

"What time is it?" 

"Nearly noon. Don't worry, father and Uncle Brynden have been entertaining Lord Stark since early this morning so you haven't been missed." 

Meredith frowns anyway. She never sleeps so late unless she's ill or she's been up far too late the evening before. Having gone to bed at a fairly reasonable time Meredith hadn't expected to be woken so late or to be woken at all as she usually wakes before Amara comes to her chambers. 

"Oh, that's good I suppose." 

"Come now, get up." 

Catelyn tugs at the bed covers until she manages to expose most of Meredith's body to the chill, causing the younger girl to scowl as she moves to get out of bed. 

"What are we eating?" Meredith asks, assuming that Catelyn hasn't eaten yet. 

"Amara insisted that you eat well so the cook made us bread with honey and cheese, porridge, and bacon. Fruit was sent as well, if you'd like some." Catelyn says, already preparing their plates at Meredith's small table. 

"What type of fruit?" 

"Plums and pomegranates." 

Meredith smiles when she catches sight of the aforementioned fruit. Both of which happen to be Meredith's favorite, though neither of which are typically had with breakfast which means either her father had them sent up or Catelyn requested them personally. She makes sure to leave some of each fruit for Catelyn should she decide to have some as well. 

The two of them settle at the small table, eating and laughing and discussing the preparations taking place for the ceremony only hours away. They'll be marrying in the Godswood under the heart tree and in the eyes of the Old Gods. Lysa hadn't been thrilled by this as she'd kept the Faith of the Seven since she was a small girl and in her eyes any marriage outside of the Sept would not be a true marriage. 

Personally, Meredith doesn't much care. She'll be marrying Eddard Stark and there are no Septs in the North. Not that that bothers her either, she has every intention of taking the Old Gods as her own when she goes to Winterfell. 

"Are you nervous?" Catelyn asks at some point, causing Meredith to almost choke on her water. 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"Nervous, about tonight? The bedding?" 

 _Oh, that_. 

Meredith isn't sure how to respond to that. She's been to several weddings, seen just as many bedding ceremonies, and has participated quite hesitantly in two. In the sense that she's never been bare before a man, let alone a group of them shouting bawdy comments, Meredith is nervous about it... But she's also not? She knows none of them will hurt her or touch her in any way that will make her feel violated. 

"I'm not sure." 

"Well, Edmure will be there if you need him." 

"I doubt it will come to that, Sweet Cat." 

The older girl shrugs, "Perhaps not but he'll be there all the same." 

"And what of you? Will you be there to protect my husband?" Meredith laughs. 

"Oh no, I should think that it is the other ladies who must protect him from me." 

"You're horrible." Meredith says, giggling childishly when Catelyn wiggles her eyebrows at her suggestively. 

Hours must pass as the two of them sit at that little table, eating and laughing until Amara enters the room with a bundle of green fabric and almost gold lace. She smiles as she lays the dress out across one of the chairs before going off in search of jewels and shoes. Meredith watches as the older woman sifts through her little chest of jewels, pulling hair pins and rings out and examining them with a critical eye. The ones that don't please her end up back in her chest with the rest of her jewels. 

"It's about time for you to be getting ready, Lady Meredith." Amara says. 

"Oh, of course." Meredith pushes away from the table and makes her way over to where her jewelry and clothes are laid out. 

The dress is freshly pressed and washed, the shoes are a simple green slipper to match the dress, it's all very subtle so as not to clash to terribly with her maiden's cloak. She'd considered wearing blue or red, something in her house's colors, but she'd chosen the green because not only is it her favorite dress but it's her most beautiful as well. It'll also separate her from Lysa who will be wearing blue. The only part of her ensemble that represents her house apart from her maiden's cloak is the hair pins Amara pulled. 

Red and pale blue crystals shaped to look like maple leaves and baby's breath. 

Meredith remembers that her uncle had gifted them to her upon her last name's day. She's only worn them once or twice since then but Meredith loves them. While they certainly won't match her dress they'll look swell in her hair. Or so Catelyn claims when she guides Meredith to a chair so she can start on her hair. Nimble fingers weave a simple braid around the crown of her head and another smaller one a bit further back, both of them bleed into a simple bun at the back of her head. 

The braid and bun are secured with the pins Amara chose. 

"It's lovely." Meredith breathes as she runs her fingers oh so carefully over the pins peaking out of her hair. 

"You're lovely," Catelyn corrects. "Now, we haven't got much time so it's best you let Amara take care of the rest." 

"Where are you going?" Meredith asks. 

"Well, I can't go to your wedding in my nightclothes can I?" 

"You aren't in your night clothes..." 

"Close enough to it." 

And then she's gone, Amara bolting the door behind her so that no one can enter without their permission while Meredith prepares for her wedding. 

"Alright, out of those clothes." Amara commands and Meredith nods as she begins stripping out of her night clothes and leaving them in a heap on the floor. 

There's a small stool in the middle of the room and Meredith steps up onto it at the older woman's prompting. The chill in the room is quickly forgotten when Amara begins rubbing sweet smelling oil into her skin. Meredith thinks it smells like oranges and cloves, much more enjoyable then Lysa's roses or Catelyn's lilies. It also leaves her skin feeling like satin. 

Once Amara's done rubbing the oil in Meredith steps down from the stool, walks over to the bed, and starts stepping into her smalls and her shift while Amara gets her stockings and corset ready. Thankfully Amara doesn't tighten the corset so much that Meredith can't even breathe, she even makes sure it's tied in such a way that when someone goes to remove it tonight they won't have to cut the laces away. They probably will, it's why Amara chose one of her older corsets, but she does it all the same. 

After the corset it done up Meredith pulls on her stockings, tying them off under the knee with grey ribbon so that she can dance without having to worry about them slipping down her legs. She then steps into her slippers before raising her arms so that Amara can help her into her dress. 

"Lord Stark certainly won't have any difficulties tonight." Amara says, causing a brilliant red blush to stain Meredith's cheeks. 

"Don't be crude." 

Amara laughs at her but doesn't push it any further. Instead she goes over to a small chest and pulls the maiden's cloak that Catelyn had made her as Lysa will be wearing their mother's cloak. A peace offering of a sort, one that fell short seeing as Lysa had grumbled and seethed about the fact that she was to wear hand-me-downs. Meredith had been incredibly offended on their mother's behalf and had offered to take the cloak instead. Lysa had huffed and told her that she wouldn't let Meredith be seen in such a thing. 

So Catelyn had made Meredith a maiden's cloak instead. Silk and careful embroidery with blue and red jewels sewn in to look like scales. It's absolutely amazing. Meredith had cried when she'd first seen it. She doesn't think it's any less beautiful the twelfth time she looks at it as Amara pulls the cloak out of the chest and shakes it out. 

"It's heavy." Meredith says as Amara settles the cloak across her shoulders. 

"Not as heavy as your husband's will be." Amara remarks. 

"... Do you approve of Lord Stark, Amara?" 

"Does it matter?" 

"Of course it matters. Most of my family approves of Lord Stark but I find that even if they didn't I'd still be married to him." 

Amara crosses her arms, furrows her brows, and stares at Meredith for several long moments before saying, "Lord Stark seems kindly enough. A terrible liar but I shouldn't think that would be a problem. I think that in time you'll be happy." 

"How do you know that he's a terrible liar?" 

"Men like that, honorable men, they can't lie to save their lives. Half truths are more they're method of choice." 

"Is that a personal opinion?" 

The older woman smirks, "Hardly." 

Meredith shakes her head but doesn't comment on it. What does she know? Amara has far more experience with people then Meredith does and Meredith values Amara's opinion. Especially when she's never once in her life lied to Meredith. So she lets the conversation drop and instead turns to look at her reflection. 

Red and blue have always been the Tully colors. Normally a woman marrying into another family would wear a dress in the colors of her house, but not Meredith, who chose the green and gold for several different reasons. It looks good. Meredith had worried that the green would clash but it's pale enough and subtle enough that it doesn't. There's a noticeable difference certainly but nothing that makes Meredith want to change into something else. 

She's smoothing down her bodice when someone knocks at her door. It's more then likely her uncle coming to escort her to the Godswood. While she checks her appearance one last time Amara gives her uncle entry into her room. 

"You look like your grandmother." Her uncle says in greeting.

"Thank you, Uncle." 

"Come, it's time." Brynden says as he offers his arm, and Meredith takes it, squeezing her uncle's arm and curling her fingers into his sleeve, and taking comfort in his steadiness as he begins leading her through the Keep. 

 

* * *

 

The Godswoods of Riverrun are bright and airy, filled with elms and redwood trees and wildflowers with streams of clear water scattered about. Nothing has been done to enhance the beauty of the Godswoods aside from the required maintenance put in by the gardener. The paths are clear of overgrown bushes and flowers, which means the older man who tends to the gardens and the growth inside of Riverrun has tended to the Godswood before the wedding. 

Beside her Lysa is practically stomping down the path, gravel crunching beneath her dainty blue slippers. It's sad to see her sister so miserable, so angry, because Lysa has never been an ugly girl. Quick to judge and hard to soothe, yes, but never had Meredith thought her ugly. The deep blue of her dress and the sapphires in her hairnet would make her even prettier if she weren't scowling and glaring at everyone. 

Meredith turns her attention away from her sister. Focusing instead on the heart tree that has come into view and the men standing beneath it. 

The first person Meredith sees is Lord Stark. He's standing between a taller man and Lord Arryn, tall and proud and solemn, wearing dark grey and black and a cloak lined with white fur. The man beside him is holding another cloak, smaller then Lord Stark's with fine embroidery and the same white fur lining the inside. He offers her a smile and enough though it's a subtle little twist of the lips it's enough to endear him to Meredith, even if just a bit. 

When her uncle is close enough to him Lord Stark steps forward and asks, "Who comes? Who comes before the Gods?" 

Distantly, Meredith is aware of Lord Arryn asking the same. Distantly, she becomes aware of the fact that Lord Arryn keeps the Old Gods. 

"Meredith of house Tully comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?" Her uncle's voice is sharper, louder then Lord Stark's is. 

"Me, Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I claim her. Who gives her?" 

"Brynden of house Tully, Knight of the Gate, uncle of Lady Meredith of house Tully." Her uncle then turns to her and Meredith swallows to clear her throat. "Lady Meredith of Riverrun, do you take this man?" 

"I take this man." 

Suddenly her uncle's hand is gone and in it's place is Lord Stark's. His hand is steadier then her uncle's and warmer too. It is not a soft hand, there are less scars on Lord Stark's hand then on her uncle's. But it is a good hand, Meredith supposes, as good as a hand can be in any case. She allows the man to guide her to kneel before the heart tree and bows her head for the required moment of silent prayer. 

She's not sure what to say to the Old Gods but she hopes for a happy marriage, hopes that she is able to form some sort of relationship with her husband. She wants children too and she wants her husband to love her as she wants to love him. 

When the moment of prayer is over Lord Stark helps her to rise and when she's steady on her feet Meredith turns so that he can remove her maiden's cloak and hand it off before draping his house's bride's cloak over her shoulders. Like Amara said it is heavier, meant to protect the wearer from the sharp cold of the North's climate. Meredith finds it comforting. 

And just like that she is no longer just a Tully. 

Just like that she is Lady Meredith Stark, Lady of Winterfell and the North. 

Eddard, for surely she can call him that now that she is his wife, has taken her hand in his and has not let it go even though he has barely glanced her way since draping his cloak over her. The pad of his thumb is rough though, calloused from years of wielding tools Meredith has never wielded herself, as he runs it across her knuckles. A tender gesture meant to reassure and comfort. 

Those who have come to witness the ceremony smile politely, offering their well wishes as the newly wedded couples make their way back toward the keep where the feast will be held to celebrate the joining of Meredith's house to Lord Stark's and Lord Arryn's. Perhaps it won't be as grand as it would have been had they not been in the middle of a war but Meredith doubts it will be anything less then acceptably indulgent. 

 

* * *

 

"Do you feel any different, Mare?" Edmure laughs as he spins her around the room later that evening. 

"I'm not sure I know what you mean." 

"Being the Lady of a great house, do you feel more Lady-like?" 

"I feel like I could box your ears and not have anyone reprimand my actions." Meredith retorts, smiling wickedly as Edmure looses some of the red in his cheeks. 

He's drank too much ale, or perhaps wine, Meredith's not sure which he's been drinking more of but Edmure's still rather young and has yet to choose his drink of preference. Meredith wouldn't be surprised if he'd had too much of both in the past few hours that the feast has been going on. 

"You wouldn't." Edmure gasps, horrified. 

"Oh but I would, right here in front of everyone! Oh what would Father's men say if they saw it, hmm? Little Edmure Tully brought to heel by his beloved elder sister." 

"You, big sister, are _wicked_." 

"I am, thank you for noticing, as if you haven't had the past twelve years to figure it out." 

Edmure smirks as he spins her around again, the high table where her father sits discussing politics with Lord Arryn flashing by all too quickly. Meredith doesn't see her husband at the table, which is a relief because she'd left him there to songs ago and had felt rather bad about it, but looking for him now the young Lady finds her solemn faced Lord dancing with Catelyn. 

It's an awkward, stilted thing, as if Lord Stark isn't quite sure what to do with himself. 

"Worried?" 

"About what?" 

"Catelyn and your husband. He is rather dashing is he not?" 

"You are such a little shit." Meredith whispers, shoving playfully at her brother's shoulder as he dances her about the hall. 

Edmure laughs impishly and twirls her past Lord Stark and Catelyn, both of whom glance at the laughing pair as they dance by. Meredith wants to think that there was something joyful in Lord Stark's eyes as he looks at her and she offers a sweet smile before Lord Stark disappears from her line of sight due to Edmure's vigorous twirling. And by the time the song ends Meredith's head is spinning from perhaps a bit too much wine and her little brother's overzealous nature. 

The seven-and-ten year old laughs as Edmure places a chaste kiss to her knuckles before leaving her in the company of a Northern man to save their little sister from the high table where she looks frightfully bored, or so Edmure claims when he departs. 

It is then that Lord Stark comes to her. He makes light conversation with Lord Umber before turning to Meredith, appearing less solemn in a way as he offers his hand. 

"May I have the next set, My Lady?" 

"Yes, it would please me greatly." 

So Lord Stark, Eddard, takes her hand and guides her onto the floor where he falls into the steps of the dance with a hesitance that suggests he's not so familiar with the pacing and movement as he would perhaps like to be. But he tries anyway, and it endears him to Meredith a great deal. He only steps on her toes once, which doesn't bother Meredith as Edmure steps on her toes quite often when they dance together but results in a fierce stammer of apologies from her husband. 

Meredith just smiles at him, spinning away when this particular dance dictates and moving back to allow his hands to rest firmly on her waist. If his thumb hesitantly slides over the lace covering her bodice Meredith will never say. 

"I must apologize," her husband says in the middle of their dance, causing Meredith's brows to furrow. "I am not so good a dancer as Brandon." 

"I never danced with your brother. I've no comparison to make between the two of you, My Lord." Meredith replies. 

"You may call me Ned, if it please you," her husband says, a faint sort of pink coloring his cheeks. "We are married after all." 

"Then you may call Meredith, but never Mare." She smiles widely as she speaks, which earns her a smile from her husband. 

"I take it you're not overly fond of the name." 

"Not at all. It was Edmures doing. You see, when he was a boy he couldn't say my name properly and began calling me Mare instead of Meredith. While certainly not the worst thing he could have chosen to call me I was never particularly fond of it." 

"Then I'll not call you by such a name." Eddard Promises. 

"And I shall like you all the more for it." 

The laughter that spills from her husband's mouth is reserved, not the hearty boom of her uncle nor the impish chirp of her brother. It is a softer, sweeter thing, more a rush of air spilling forth from between his teeth. Meredith finds it fitting for one such as Eddard Stark. It'll certainly pair well with her natural roar. Or so Meredith thinks, she's never compared her laughter to anyone else's so what does she know? 

Either way, she _likes_ Eddard Stark's laugh and would very much like to hear more of it. 

 

* * *

 

Later that evening when Meredith's Lord husband has been stolen away by her uncle and Meredith has been passed into the arms of a northern lord by the name of Howland Reed, a kind eyed man with a soft voice, the bedding is called for. Possibly by one of her father's men, either way it matters not, for Howland Reed's eyes go terribly wide as a man sweeps Meredith off of the floor and into his arms. 

She lets out a yelp of surprise and moves to grasp hold of the man's shoulder while he laughs boisterously, spinning her around to face the group of men who have come to surround them. Soon enough the group have carried her out into the hall where they begin removing her clothes. 

It is the slippers that go first, dainty things that they are, and then her stockings. A man is pulling at her laces, being surprisingly careful not to rip them despite the urging of the men around him to get it done with. A glance behind her show's Howland Reed's flaming cheeks and furrowed brow. He does not meet her eye and Meredith doesn't mind it so much as she might have. 

Once the laces have been loosened the dress is pulled from her body and held aloft by a giant of a man in unfamiliar colors. Surprisingly, there is no fear of the men around her, not even when one of them removes a small blade and hooks it beneath the laces of her corset before tugging it toward him with near enough force to cause Meredith to stumble. There is a nervousness, yes, what woman wouldn't be nervous? But there is no fear, because these men are her father's men, are her husband's men, and none of them are reaching out to touch her breasts or bring their hands to the place between her legs to laugh about her readiness or lack there of.

She suspects, that both her uncle and Lord husband made their expectations quite plain. 

After her corset is pulled from her body a man Meredith vaguely recognizes carefully pulls her shift is pulled over her head, the fabric snagging very briefly on the pins holding her hair in place before coming free, it knocks the pin loose but doesn't remove it all together and Meredith plucks both out of her hair before anything can happen to them. 

"My apologies, My Lady," Ser Desmond Grell calls drunkenly after he remarks about the curve of her rear. "I'm terribly sorry." 

Minutes later a man pulls her smalls from her body, leaving her naked and exposed to the men who've swarmed around her. One man, a northern man with honey colored eyes, stares at her breasts for far longer then Meredith is frankly comfortable with. Thankfully they reach the chambers she'll be sharing with Eddard for the duration of his stay and the man who'd carried her out of the great hall lifts her up once more to walk her into the room and deposit her onto the bed before leaving. 

She takes the few silent moments she has to place her hair pins onto the small writing desk in the room. 

By the time she's turning back around to make her way to the bed Eddard is shoved into the room by a gaggle of women who chortle and make bawdy remarks as they pull the door shut. 

Eddard's cheeks are flushed and his eyes are hard. Meredith doubts it has anything to do with the fact that this is the first time they're standing naked and vulnerable before one another. 

"I hope you were treated well," Meredith jokes in an attempt to shake off the unease growing in her stomach. "The woman of Riverrun have a very hands on approach I've heard." 

That stoniness that had settled in her husband's eyes somewhere along his trip to their new chambers fades into warm mist as he replies with a soft, "I was treated fairly well then. And you? Were you treated well?" 

"Far better then I expected, honestly." 

Meredith isn't sure what to do with her hands. Frankly, she's not entirely sure what she should be doing right now. Should she go to him? He's staring at her like he expects her to do something. Meredith shifts back on her heels as Eddard's gaze drifts from the curve of her lip to the dip of her collar bones to the rise of her breasts, down the flat plane of her stomach and to the firm musculature of her thighs before allowing his gaze to meet hers again. 

Something warm settles in the pit of Meredith's stomach as he steps closer to brush his fingers over the soft just of her cheekbone. That familiar bite of passion that Meredith has become so well acquainted with in the past weeks flaring sharply when Eddard moves to thread his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck. 

His kiss is a tentative thing at first, a soft brush of his chapped lips against her softer ones. It grows firmer when Meredith steps closer to him and reaches out to place her hands against his ribs, fingers curling just enough to urge him a bit closer. He tastes like the spiced beer her uncle is so very fond of. Meredith sucks in a sharp breath when Eddard's mouth slips away from hers to trail along the curve of her jaw and down her neck to her collarbone. 

Beyond the door someone is shouting about getting her ready. 

Meredith finds it terribly easy to ignore the japes and bawdy remarks when her husband's teeth scrape against her nipple, when his hands trail from her waist to the back of her thighs. He lifts her easily, her smaller stature easily handled as Eddard carries her back to the bed she'd vacated not so terribly long ago, and after he's placed her among the bed coverings and pillows his lips continue their assault on her body alongside his hands. 

Soon enough Meredith is a gasping, panting mess. Dragging her nails across her husband's shoulders as he slips his fingers between her legs, groaning, almost keening, against her neck when he's met with wet heat. 

"I'll be gentle." He promises, eyes hazy and blown wide. 

Then her is pulling her so that her legs are hooked around his hips so that he might enter her without restriction. It doesn't hurt, a bit uncomfortable perhaps but there is no pain. Meredith keens as her husband pushes into her, back arching as a low keen slips past her lips. Eddard kisses the exposed flesh, tongue darting out to taste the sweat beading there, moaning sharply when Meredith clenches down on him. 

His fingers slide across her skin as he takes her, plucking at her nipples and slipping between them to tease her before moving away. 

All too soon Meredith is moaning his name like a prayer, "Ned, Ned, Ned." 

Release comes quickly for both of them. Ripping Meredith's breath from her in a sharp cry as her body tenses and shakes and quivers. Above her Eddard is unmoving, breathing harshly into her hair, his weight heavy but not entirely unwelcome as it presses her into the bed. When he rolls off he takes her with him, only stopping when he's stretches across the bed with Meredith tucked against his side. 

His skin is slick with sweat, both of them are slick with it really and Meredith isn't sure she likes it but she _does_ enjoy the warmth of her husband as he holds her close, fingers trailing over her shoulder. 

"What happened?" Meredith asks, breaking the silence that has filled the room after their coupling, "In the hall? You seemed angry." 

Beneath her cheek Eddard's shoulder tenses, the muscle flexing, but he does not push her away nor does he speak. Instead he picks up a fiery red curl and rubs it between his thumb and forefinger. 

"One of my bannermen said something I did not take kindly too." 

"About me." 

A pause, "Yes." 

Meredith doesn't say much after that, merely blinks up at her husband to find him watching her through mist-warm eyes. It's comforting, knowing that there is at least some fondness for her. Without much thought Meredith closes her eyes and presses close to her husband, sighing softly against his chest when he shifts to grab a blanket and pull it over them both. 


	5. Chapter 5

She wakes before him, what a funny thing really, to wake before another person. Waking early isn't an incredibly uncommon thing for Meredith, she does it every day, but to wake before someone she's sharing a bed with? That's not so familiar a territory. So she takes a moment to study her husband before slipping out of bed and to her trunk where she pulls out a pair of small clothes, a pair of breeches, and a tunic which she changes into after cleaning herself up a bit. 

Sneaking out of the chambers she's now sharing with Eddard Stark is far easier when she's not afraid of waking him. 

Eddard Stark appears to be an incredibly sound sleeper. 

Once she's in the corridor Meredith greets one of the guards standing near the door, smiling sweetly at him and greeting him with kind words, after he's given his acknowledgement with a somewhat surprised looking smile Meredith makes her way to the kitchen where she finds Amara sitting at a table preparing the morning meal. 

"You," she tells Meredith when she catches sight of her, "are not supposed to be here." 

"And where else should I be if not here?" Meredith asks. 

Amara tuts as she steps away from her task to begin another. Walking over to the stove where she's preparing breakfast. She places bacon and eggs and a few links of sausage on a plate before moving to fill a bowl full of porridge and sliced apples. Honey is poured into the porridge, cinnamon too, and then the plate is being pushed into Meredith's hands. 

"Since you won't be dining with your husband I suppose my company will have to do." Amara mutters as she wipes down her hands, "Eat. I want your plate empty. The bowl too." 

Meredith lowers herself into a chair that's been set around the table against the back wall where servants peel potatoes and sort through vegetables. She eats with gusto, Amara's cooking has always been amazing but after last night's events Meredith finds that now it tastes a great deal better now then it's possibly ever been. So she eats until there is nothing left to eat, smiling kindly when Amara snatches her dishes away before Meredith can offer to take care of them. 

She has spent so much time in the kitchens. 

Always sneaking in when she was younger to give treats to Lysa and Edmure when they deserved them. She'd eventually begun visiting the kitchen when the servants were awake, somehow managing to endear her to them with her kindness and her willingness to help when needed. Still, some things had never been acceptable in the eyes of the servants and so some things Meredith doesn't know.

She still offers to help though. 

It's probably why she's even allowed in the kitchen anymore when Edmure and Lysa are not. 

"May I ask how it was?" Amara asks after a moment. 

Sunlight is streaming through the window. It won't be long before someone else comes. 

"I enjoyed it..." 

"But?" 

"I had suspected him to be chaste." 

This earns her a loud snort from Amara and a disbelieving, "Chaste? Oh darling girl, no. He might not dishonor you now that you've wed but every man wets his cock eventually. I'd be surprised if Lord Stark hadn't had a whore or two in his bed before taking you, considering the company he keeps." 

"It surprised me is all." 

Amara stares at her for a long moment. 

"Does it bother you?" She asks and Meredith shakes her head. 

"Not so much as it probably should." 

"Does _that_ bother you?" 

Meredith doesn't think so. 

"I'm thankful I suppose... That Lord Stark sought out others. I don't think last night would have been half as enjoyable if he hadn't done so." 

And with that said Amara nods slowly and picks up her knife to return to her previous task. Meredith watches her for a long moment, shakes her head, and decides to change the subject. If she wants to talk about Eddard Stark with the woman then the two of them can do it in the privacy of Meredith's bedchambers when her Lord husband isn't around. 

Slowly, the kitchen begins to fill with servants. Many of them greet Meredith with brilliant smiles and warm wards. But as the kitchen grows more crowded and Meredith finds there is nothing that needs her limited expertise, the young Lady of Winterfell rises and bids Amara goodbye before leaving the kitchen in search of something more productive to do with her time. 

 

* * *

 

Maester Vyman is a shrewd man but kind enough. He'd been introduced to Riverrun after Maester Kym's death and he had never turned Meredith away when she came to him with her curiosities. In fact, he'd been rather enthusiastic about allowing Meredith to help him on occasion. 

Which is why she's more then happy to help the man boil strips of cloth for bandages and carefully packing away containers full of creams and tonics.

And it's while Meredith is carefully coiling now died bandages into carefully made rolls that Edmure enters the Maester's chambers. He smiles fondly at her as he makes his way over and lowers himself onto a stool. 

"Maester Vyman has recruited me to help my beloved little sister." Edmure explains as he pulls a small crate closer to himself so that he can begin putting away various items. 

Soon a comfortable silence settles over the two as they finish packing up the supplies Vyman has prepared for the men who've come to Riverrun. By the time they've finished there are several crates full of tonics and ointments and other such supplies. All of which are fairly recognizable to Meredith seeing as Maester Vyman has always been relatively tolerant of her curiosities. 

Once everything is packed Meredith and Edmure each grab a crate and make their way toward the courtyard where a wagon will be waiting to be packed full of supplies that will follow Lord Arryn and Lord Stark farther south. 

"Have you spoken to Catelyn today?" Edmure inquires after they've left the Maester's tower. 

"Not this morning, no... I assumed she would have spent the morning with Lysa." 

This makes Edmure scoff, "You assume incorrectly. Lysa hasn't left her chambers all morning." 

"Well, I suppose it's her morning. Lysa can spend it however she wishes." 

Edmure shoots her a mischievous smile before carefully nudging her with his elbow. 

"And why have you not locked yourself away with your new husband, beloved sister? I heard Lord Stark was rather surprised to see you gone this morning." 

The heat that spreads across Meredith's cheeks is absolutely due to the implication Edmure is so obviously making. However, she is a proper young Lady and Meredith will not fall victim to Edmure's mischief. Instead she rolls her eyes and shakes her head. 

"I'm a Lady of Riverrun, Edmure, and so there are many tasks that need my attention." 

"Catelyn and Lysa are also Ladies of Riverrun." 

"And Lysa has decided to spend time in her own company." 

Edmure snorts but refrains from saying anything further. 

Word travels fast among the serving folk and if Lysa were to even catch a hint of what either of her siblings have said, especially if it were anything about her, then it would make all of their lives just a bit harder. 

All conversation about Ladies and chores dies when the two Tully children reach the courtyard. 

There are several men milling about and Meredith smiles at them all they pass, especially the men who fight beneath her husband's banner. They're her men too now, in a sense, and some of them might not return to their homes after the war. The least she can do for them is offer kindness and compassion wherever she finds the need for it. 

One of the men, a giant of a man with a wild brown beard, offers a curt nod as he passes and Meredith feels something warm bloom in her chest. 

Her mother had once told Meredith that a good Lady cares not only for her husband's house but for those who live under him protection and his rule. Inspiring loyalty through kindness and love is not so difficult a concept to understand, really, it's the application of such a concept that Meredith thinks is a bit harder to master... But she thinks that if nothing else she can inspire acceptance among the Northern Lords. 

Without much thought Meredith hands her crate to Edmure once he's climbed into the wagon and sets down his own. 

"Excuse me," a voice says behind them, "Lady Meredith? Lord Tully has sent for you." 

Meredith turns to smile at the young page standing behind her and nods, "Thank you." 

The boy bobs a little bow before stepping back, patiently waiting for her to finish her task so that he can lead her to her father. 

"Thank you for your help, Edmure." Meredith says. 

"Of course, would you like me to get the other crates?" 

"If it isn't too much trouble." 

"None at all, sister mine." Edmure chortles. 

And Edmure's smile is fuch a sweet thing that the older girl can't help but feel lighter upon seeing it. Meredith offers a smile in return before shaking her head fondly and turning to follow the page back into Riverrun. 

 

* * *

 

"Do you like Lord Stark, Meredith?" Her father asks once Meredith has settled in the chair opposite his own. 

Over the past several days Hoster Tully has regained much of his color. It brings Meredith a great deal of relief as she'd begun to grow worried for her father as his illness had shown no sign of relenting. 

"I find Lord Stark very honorable." Meredith remarks. 

"Honorable? Is that all?" 

"What else would you have me say, father? I know very little about my husband and we've not had time to remedy that. Therefore my thoughts on him are very simple." 

Not an exact lie. 

Meredith doesn't know Lord Stark well but she thinks he's a kind man. She doubts their marriage will be terse or bitter. If nothing else he will treat her well and provide her with fond memories. 

"There will be time enough for that later." Her father says, but his eyes are soft. 

Soft because they both know that there is a very real chance her husband will not return to the North, a chance that Robert will lose and those who supported him will be put to the sword. It's a terrible thought. Meredith hopes that it remains that, a thought. 

"I called you here not to discuss your husband but to discuss what will be expected of you now that you've been married." 

"Of course." 

"You'll be expected to stay at Riverrun until after the war." Hoster says. 

"And should my husband die and I do not provide an heir?" 

"Should such a thing happen we will find you another suitable match... Perhaps a Dornishman? I know you weren't opposed to the idea of marrying a Dornish Lord." 

"It will help that my lack of a maidenhead won't be looked down upon." Meredith comments. 

Her father shoots her a look but doesn't move to reprimand her for her remark.

"This is war," her father says, reaching out to take her hand, "but I would not have you think that I will not ensure your comfort and safety should the worst happen." 

"I know, father." Meredith manages to say around a mouthful of emotion. 

Hoster Tully is a good man, caring, but he had not been overly affectionate with his children. Not like their mother had anyway. Meredith is not used to kisses on cheeks and weathered hand holding her own. So it's almost enough to bring tears to her eyes. But there was never any doubt in Meredith's mind that her father loves her and her siblings. So his declaration to care for her is soothing, acting as an anchor to keep Meredith from drowning in the turmoil of her emotions. 

So it is with a gentle smile that Meredith moves to press a chaste kiss to her father's wrinkles cheek. 

"Thank you, father." She says after she's pulled away. 

"Of course, dear girl." Her father's voice is calm and his eyes impossibly blue. "Of course." 


End file.
